


I Remember You

by foxcatcher



Series: International Purveyors of Pornography [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adult Entertainment, Bad Jobs, Coffee, Extended Flashbacks, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, If WWE did porn instead of wrestling, M/M, Office Romance, Pining, Worse Porn Titles, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: Contrary to popular opinion, Enzo was not a moron.He knew exactly how loud and ridiculous he was, and didn’t care what people thought of him. But he did have a certain image to maintain, and Enzo Amore didn’t mope. Enzo Amore was an unrepentant sex pest. He ran into things head first and dealt with the consequences later. He always knew what to do. He did notpine.Now, if only he could figure out why Cass seemed so familiar.





	I Remember You

**Author's Note:**

> This took longer to write than I expected - I started it before the recent heel turn, so I realise it is pure escapism at this point. Let's just pretend...
> 
> Partially inspired by how real life Enzo and Cass met.

> _Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad_
> 
> \- Carly Rae Jepsen - "Call Me Maybe" 
> 
> -
> 
> _I've waited hours for this_
> 
> _I've made myself so sick_
> 
> _I wish I'd stayed asleep today_
> 
> _I never thought that this day would end_
> 
> _I never thought that tonight could ever be_
> 
> _This close to me_
> 
> \- The Cure - "Close to Me"

It was the worst kept secret at among the staff at WWE Inc. that Enzo was working there mainly to pine after Colin “Big Cass” Cassidy from the script writing department.

What was more surprising was that despite him being the least subtle man in the world, Cass didn’t seem to notice anything. In fact, Cass’s first impression of Enzo had been that he was the kind of man who got a job in porn so he could get free lube and make awkward passes at the actresses. Which was only half true. 

At least, that had been Enzo’s intention when he first started: get a foot into the business of his dreams, make some extra sneaker money, enjoy the view, how you doin’. If he stuck with it for a few months, he might move up the ranks, or a better opportunity would present itself. The position itself was certainly nothing special – it was the kind of vaguely titled, badly paid, menial void reserved for the young and the desperate. Most bailed as soon as it became apparent that a more glamorous position wouldn’t become available. But Enzo was not one to give up - his middle name was “persistent” - and the good thing about doing a thankless job with some semblance of joy, was that people _noticed_. As the months passed, he was thrown a request here, an order there, until he had slowly absorbed enough bits and bobs to make himself indispensable, and no one could remember what his real job was, anyway. It wasn’t much better – his days were still filled with endless small tasks: minor repairs, running scripts and supplies, keeping schedules, feeding actors lines – but at least he was making a living off it, rather than being paid in pennies and bus passes.

It didn’t matter, Enzo thought as he headed to the second floor of the Porn Fortress, climbing the stairs two steps at a time. He’d found other reasons to stay. 

The script writing office was one of the smaller offices, squeezed into a corner besides the accounting department. Some of Enzo’s best friends in the company worked there: Carmella, former Staten Island hair-dresser, now the head of the department and resident mother hen; and The New Day, who were the kind of pop-culture obsessed manchildren who gave their little clique a name. They spent most of their time trying to work Final Fantasy references into their scripts or not working at all, while Carmella bitched at them and cleared up whatever mess her “boys” had got into this time.

Enzo’s favourite part of the room was the posters. Kofi had pulled some strings with a friend who had access to the company archive, and so the walls were lined with framed vintage posters from the WWE’s heyday in the 70s and 80s – gloriously pulpy remnants of a more innocent time: _The Creature from the Dick Lagoon_ starring Chett Chetterfield and Mitch “Mr.” Mackelroy; Big Boss Man in _If You Can’t Do the Sex Time..._ ; The infamous Pelvis Wesley trilogy – _Jailhouse Cock_ , _Blow Me Tender_ and _Assbreak Hotel_ ; _IRS’s Naughty Audits_ (“3 Hours of Steamy Tax Action!!!” the tagline exclaimed cheerfully).

It was hard not to be charmed.

He spent more time here than anywhere else in the building, and only a fraction of it for legitimate work. The main reason sat at the desk closest to the door, legs too long for the space below it. The sunlight was filtering through the blinds behind him, and through Enzo’s rose-tinted brain it almost looked like the man had a halo, his hair glinting with it. He was deep in concentration, chewing the end of his pencil in a way that made his dimples pop.

When Enzo first met Cass, he’d scared himself with his reaction. He’d been new, running scripts for a shoot and didn’t notice the tall figure in the office until Carmella had introduced them. Their hands had slotted easily together, inexplicably familiar, and Enzo had realised he loved this man. It hadn’t felt like he was falling in love. No, it had been a quiet recognition - a gentle _oh, I love you_ , sure in the same way he recognised his car or his parents or his own face. Like the feeling had always been there, and he was just being reminded of it. As he entered the room, he was again filled with the same strange sensation.

It had taken him the better part of a year to place it.

-

It’s the summer before the last year of high school, and Enzo is heading to the neighbourhood basketball court with his cousins, his beat-up trainers crunching against the pavement.

The summer is the hottest in 12 years, and Enzo has spent most of the time since school ended trying to come up with new ways of escaping the sweltering heat, dragging his friends down to the beach or playing ball in the park or just spreading out on the couch in front of the television, listening to the whirr of the air conditioning. His dad keeps walking into the kitchen to check the thermometer, each time loudly announcing the temperature with a kind of shocked reverence - “Can you believe it’s 90 degrees!”. “Jesus, Lorenzo, it’s 98 now! When’s it going to end?” 

Cousin Mike and Cousin Anthony are younger than him by only two years, but it’s enough to make them perpetual babies in Enzo’s head, even though they’re the same height as him now, both staggering around on spindly legs that started growing before anything else. Cousin Frank older than him and everything Enzo wants to be. He has a cool car and a hot blonde girlfriend and a well-paying job, and still has time to hang out with his little brothers and loud-mouth cousin - Enzo’s aunt always goes on about how clever and kind her Frankie is, how he decided to stay in Jersey after high school to look after her. He listens to hip-hop and wears thin gold chains and brand-new Nikes and it only makes him cooler, while Enzo looks like a try-hard idiot when he does the same.

The court is slowly appearing in front of them, grey and worn down, surrounded by wire fencing. A group of older boys are hanging out by the hoops, keeping the younger ones away, and Enzo recognises a few of them. They’re mostly Frank’s friends, plus some of their friends – big, tough, kind guys who ruffle Enzo’s hair when they see him and only go by stupid nicknames, like TJ and Meeks and G-Dog. Frank is with them before Enzo has stepped through the gates, handing out one-armed hugs and fist-bumps like he owns the court. The twins scuttle past him, while Enzo drags his feet. All day, he’s had a strange feeling that something is about to happen - it’s been niggling at the back of his mind, and as Frank waves him over, it flares up with full force. He doesn’t know what to do about it, so he pushes it away and joins him.

Cass is there, before he’s anything but a stranger, his hair sun-bleached and outgrown. He’s a bit younger than Enzo, a friend of one of Frank’s friends, and it comes as no surprise when the friend tells him they play together on the school basketball team: while he hasn’t reached his full height yet, he still towers over most of the boys on the court. Neither of them have grown into themselves yet. Cass moves like he’s only just got used to his limbs, hunched like he can’t quite fill his lanky body. When he shakes Enzo’s hand, he’s just Colin. Enzo, on the other hand, is still reeling from a very disappointing growth spurt and tries to make up for it with pure gab, carrying himself like he was bursting at his seams.

Years later Enzo will recognise the weightlessness he felt when their hands touched as falling in love. At the court, he blames the feeling on the heat, and asks Cass how the weather is up there.

He can feel the ghost of Cass’s fingers long after they leave him.

-

Contrary to popular opinion, Enzo was not a moron.

He knew exactly how loud and ridiculous he was, and didn’t care what people thought of him. There were perks to being underestimated. But he did have a certain image to maintain, and Enzo Amore didn’t mope. Enzo Amore was an unrepentant sex pest. He ran into things head first and dealt with the consequences later. He always knew what to do. He did not _pine_.

Now, Enzo didn’t recognise himself, or at least not the Enzo Amore he thought he knew. That man was still supposed to make his mother proud, by marrying a good girl from back home and have a brood of little Enzos. Like his father had done. Like Cousin Frank. But it was as if every useful part of him had slowly become devoted to Cass. Even the most insignificant things – how he liked his coffee, how he would tap his fingers when he was stressed, how he would sometimes let his hair down at the end of the day – were filed away in his brain, leaving no space for anything else. It was just a lucky coincidence that his job could be performed with minimal effort.

After that first – second? – handshake in the script office, something in Enzo’s mind had begun shifting. Slowly, painfully slowly, he started piecing together all the fragments until one day, the summer at the basketball court stood clear before him. Problem was, it didn’t get any better after he remembered. If anything, it got more complicated. Being able to finally place the feeling that had haunted him for the better part of a year didn’t diminish it – it simply gave it focus. And it had made clear that Cass _didn’t_ remember.

The worst part was not knowing what to do.

None of Enzo’s usual tricks seemed appropriate. Pure, tooth-grinding denial had worked for a bit - he’d tried to convince himself that the flutter in his chest was really aimed at Carmella, or that he was overworked, or ill, or just plain insane. But deep down, he knew that he could only spend so many nights jerking off to the thought of Cass spread out on his bed, biting his fist so he wouldn’t cry out his name, before something had to give. Not even he could pretend for that long. In the end, he’d been left with no option but to accept it, and he still had no idea what to do. So, he picked himself up, got on with his life and loved him in silence.

But Enzo Amore wasn’t supposed to do anything silently.

-

As anyone new to the company would quickly learn, keeping secrets wasn’t anyone’s strong point at WWE Inc. There was too much juicy workplace drama to go around, and no one managed to keep their mouths shut about anything for long - It had been a good week, month, even, when someone had found Enzo’s audition tape for Jersey Shore. No one ever did it out of spite or malice, it was just… entertainment. A natural side-effect of the business. And nothing was more entertaining than watching Enzo make a fool out of himself. But, as much fun as it was to watch two idiots dance around what was common knowledge, it eventually got tiring to never get any kind of result. It had become obvious a long time ago that Enzo wasn’t going to make a move, for whatever reason, and if anything was going to happen, someone would have to intervene.

If Enzo was honest, he wasn't entirely surprised when they cornered him after work. He'd seen the looks Carmella would give him when he visited the office for the fourth time in a day on some paper-thin excuse, but that didn’t mean he was going down without a fight. He was the _king_ of denial. But they did have the advantage of being four on one, and quickly overpowered him and dragged him into an empty meeting room. He could hear the door being locked behind them as he was inelegantly pushed onto a chair. Carmella was standing in front of him. She was the very definition of _pissed_ – arms crossed, hip cocked, ready to snap. Three equally bad cops stood behind her. They’d clearly been practicing their “mean stares” and ended up with something that was more “inconvenienced” or possibly “bloated”. It did nothing to ease Enzo’s nerves. All that was missing was a growling German Shepherd and a lamp for them to shine in his face.

“We’re gonna be real with you, ‘Zo,” Carmella’s voice cut through the air. Enzo couldn’t decide what was sharper – her nails, her eyes or her tone. “We know all about your crush on Cass. We’ve known for a long time, and we’re runnin’ out of patience.”

“What crush?” He slung an arm over the back of his chair in a way that was meant to convey and air of nonchalance, but he could feel his gorge rising, whatever that was. Carmella had seen spinal injuries that looked more relaxed.

“You’re a beard with an idiot hanging off it,” she snapped. “You’re not foolin’ anyone. We’d have to be deaf, blind and fuckin’ stupid not to notice the way you look at him. Or the way you hang around the office all the time, for no goddamn reason.”

Xavier joined in, peeking over Carmella’s shoulder like a child gleefully snitching on a sibling, “ _And_ you bring him coffee every day.”

“What are you talkin’ about? I get everyone coffee,” Enzo tried for an incredulous smile, but there was real panic in his eyes. His accent had softened. “Ain’t a man allowed to do coffee runs for his colleagues anymore?”

That got him a collective scoff.

“No, you bring _him_ coffee every day, and then you get four lattes to cover it up.” Carmella replied, pointing a talon-like nail at him. “I’ve always taken my coffee black. Xavier isn't allowed caffeine. Big E is lactose intolerant.” The man in question nodded solemnly.

“I was just tryin’ to…” Enzo looked absolutely mortified, eyes bugging out as he made a series of half-formed sounds.

“To do what?” Carmella cut him off, “You’ve done nothin’ for _two years_ , Enzo!”

Enzo had no idea where all this anger came from. Carmella was prickly on a good day, but now she seemed so frustrated she might actually tear into him. He shrunk back into his seat. Fortunately, Kofi decided to step in before things got too heated. He leant in towards a pale-looking Enzo, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“What I think Carmella is trying to say, is that it doesn’t seem like you not to act on something like this. Why haven’t you just asked him out?”

The wild-eyed man seemed torn for a few seconds, like he was battling with himself, before he slumped in his seat with a defeated sigh.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “He… He’s too good for me. Too _straight_. He’d probably pummel me if I ever made a move.”

It sounded wrong as he said it – Cass didn’t have a bad bone in his body – but it was too late. It was most of the truth, anyway. Of course, he wasn’t going to mention the fact that they had met before. That hadn’t ended in a way Enzo was particularly proud of, and he wasn’t prepared to share it with them. Not here. Not now. Kofi arched an eyebrow at him, like he knew Enzo was holding something back, but wasn’t going to ask him about it.

“I think we both know Cass wouldn’t do something like that,” he said with a knowing smile. “Never. If he didn’t want you buzzing around him all the time, you’d know already. He just keeps his cards very close to his chest. Of course, we wouldn’t know about the straight part, since he doesn’t talk much about private stuff, but I’m pretty sure he’s single.”

The words rattled around in Enzo’s head. Was Kofi saying what he thought he was saying? It couldn’t be. It seemed borderline perverse to even think about it. He was still trying to wrap his head around what he’d heard, or possibly what he hadn’t heard, when Carmella piped up.

“It’s Cass’s birthday next Friday. Maybe you could take that as an opportunity to do something special for him?”

She seemed almost reluctant to suggest it, looking everywhere but at Enzo. Not waiting for an answer, she gave the New Day a small nod, and they scuttled after her. Just as they reached the door, she paused and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes not meeting Enzo’s.

“I’m glad it’s you, Enzo,” she said. Her face was soft and unreadable. Then she shook herself out of it, and added, too briskly, “We’ve got good money runnin’ on this. Don’t fuck it up.”

The door shut quietly behind them.

-

Enzo is 16 and wants so badly to be alone with Cass.

They’ve been playing for what feels like hours, slowly baking in the sun - they’re almost swimming through the soupy heat, equal parts sluggish and delirious. Enzo’s taken a ball to the face and fallen on his ass twice, too busy watching the way Cass’s shirt is riding up to reveal a stripe of summer-brown skin, but luckily, the heat is making everyone’s playing a bit sub-par.

It was the worst kind of cliché, really – Cass had seemed unsure at first, shy and quiet around Frank’s boisterous friends, but the moment they began playing, he bloomed. All of a sudden, he’s focused and as graceful as his 7 feet allow, and Enzo thinks he’s beautiful. It’s impossible to look away. Enzo would give his left arm for a chance to talk to him without the others there, even though he has no idea what he would say to him. He just wants to have his attention, to be able to touch him, he wants it more than anything, and at the same time, he’s scared to death of it. All he can do is stare at him until he’s dizzy, praying for something to happen.

And like it’s been willed into reality by Enzo’s thoughts, something does happens.

Anthony is trying to make a pass, but his hands are slick with sweat and the ball slips. Enzo is facing the other way and only hears the dull thump of the impact and a sharp yell, and whips around to see Mike bent over double, clutching his nose. There is a dark splatter on the asphalt below him, bright red streaming between his fingers. Frank is with him, older and responsible, cradling his brothers neck to make him lean back. Everyone else swarms around, keen to help, but not wanting to get in Frank’s way - instead, they chatter, argue between themselves whether Mike should be bending forwards or backwards, if his nose is broken, whose fault it was.

Everything is loud and rushed and Enzo feels like he’s on a 10 second delay. When he finally makes a move towards his cousins, they’re already gone, pouring through the gate of the court. Cass’s team mate has a car, but there’s only room for five, and it’s already filling up: Mike’s in the front seat, stemming the worst of the blood flow with a rolled-up t-shirt, Anthony behind him fighting back the tears while some of the older boys comfort him. Enzo catches up with them, disoriented and out of breath, but can only stand dumbly next to the car and watch the whole spectacle. Frank is talking to him, hurriedly explaining that they’re taking Mike to the hospital, that Enzo has to stay, that they’ll see him later.

Then they’re off.

He watches the car disappear and feels oddly guilty, until he realises he’s not alone. Cass is standing next to him on the empty court, looking similarly confused as he follows the car with his eyes. All that’s left of the incident is the oil-like stain on the tarmac where Mike was hit and the ball under Cass’s arm and the adrenaline still pumping through them. Enzo looks at Cass and Cass looks at Enzo and for a few seconds, the only audible sound is their breathing.

Cass is the first to break the silence.

“I’m still game for another round, if you are.”

It sounds like a question, even though it’s not. Enzo feels like he’s floating as he follows Cass back through the gates.

-

They play until it’s late enough that the court is lit by a few looming street lights, and the air has cooled down to a more manageable temperature. It’s quiet, almost deserted - everything else seems distant and far, far away.

Enzo has no idea how he’s managed it, but he’s got Cass pressed up against the darkest corner of the court. It’s cold enough to make the taller boy shiver against him, but his mouth is velvety hot and he’s so _pretty_ , even in the harsh glare of the light, that Enzo has to squeeze his eyes shut. His hands are buried in Cass’s hair, pulling him down to his level in a way that has got to be uncomfortable, but he can’t get close enough. Cass doesn’t seem to mind. They’re both hard, grinding against each other, and every sound Cass makes is going straight to Enzo’s groin.

There’s no warning when it happens. No slow build before Enzo jerks against Cass’s thigh with a gasp and comes hard in his pants. He’s breathing against Cass’s neck, his hands still in his hair, and he can feel it seeping through the fabric of his shorts, making them stick to him.

Cass is too far gone to notice at first, clutching at him and making little clipped-off noises that make Enzo’s spent cock twitch, but soon enough he realises that they’ve stopped moving. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and Enzo stops breathing. They’re sad and confused and very, very blue.

His throat feels tight.

He runs.

-

The following winter, Cousin Frank is caught stealing at work, and his mother won’t talk about him anymore. Enzo learns from the twins he’s been cheating on his cute blonde girlfriend.

He stops going to the basketball court.

-

It was the morning of Cass’s birthday. Enzo had been watching the date get closer in his diary, like the finishing line of a marathon, and by the time the day came around, he felt like he’d been running for miles. He walked into work on wobbly legs, like an alien trying and failing to blend in with humans. Each step seemed jerky and off, but he managed to make his way up to the office, armed with only a cup of coffee and a birthday card. It didn’t seem like enough, but after days of agonising over it, he’d decided against a present, convinced that he would only get it wrong.

This would be the day. It had to be.

You wouldn’t have guessed that it was Cass’s birthday on first glance – there were a few cards by his keyboard, next to a half-eaten cupcake, no doubt brought in by the Carmella and the Boys, but the man himself was working as usual, legs crammed under the low desk. In comparison, the New Day’s corner of the office had been more or less drowned in balloons and streamers. Xavier was wearing a birthday hat. Kofi was wearing two.

Clutching the cup in front of him, Enzo approached gingerly, repeating coffee orders in his head like a mantra - _Cappuccino if it’s before lunchtime, one sugar, no cinnamon – espresso in the afternoon – syrupy latte drinks if it’s going to be a long night – pastries on Fridays…_ After all this time, he was struck by how little Cass had changed. Sure, he was a grown man now, comfortable in his own skin, but there was so much of the old Cass there – the puppy dog eyes, the quietness, the way he would sometimes hunch like he couldn’t quite fill himself.

He took a deep breath. Cass looked up and shot him a quick smile, and he was suddenly very glad he’d planned what he was going to say – he felt like he might puke any minute. But as soon as he opened his mouth, it was as if every minute he’d spent yearning tried to force themselves out of his mouth at the same time. The words were spilling too fast for him to control – he was muttering like a madman, and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t dare look at Cass, his eyes darting around the room while he poured out every terrible detail.

Finally, the flood trickled down, ending on an anticlimactic “…so, yeah…”. He was done. He’d said everything he could say.

Cass was silent. He wasn’t even looking at Enzo, gaze still fixed on his computer, fingers typing away. Actually, he hadn’t said anything at all since he came in. Enzo had a horrible, sinking feeling. He was about to open his mouth and release a new torrent, when Cass pushed away from his desk, pulling his hair behind his ear to reveal a Bluetooth earpiece.

“Sorry, Enzo, I was on a conference call. What did you say?”

Fuck. It had finally happened. Enzo’s life was officially a fucking sitcom. And a bad one, at that.

Enzo felt like dying. He could hear Kofi, Xavier and Big E wince across the room, like they were watching a man age prematurely before their eyes. Nothing had changed. He was still that brash, insecure kid from Jersey, the one who could never do anything right, and the one time he did, he’d left Cass alone on the court because he was too scared. And Cass… Sweet, beautiful Cass was just looking at him expectantly, completely oblivious to what had just happened. He put the paper cup down and shoved the card into his pocket, already clawing it to bits.

“Nothin’. Just brought you some coffee. Happy birthday.”

As he got ready to leave with the weight of the world on his shoulders, a soft voice stopped him.

“Wait. We’re going for drinks after work, do you want to come?”

He didn’t. For the first time in years, Enzo didn’t want to spend time with Cass or go to a party. He wanted to go home to his dogs and have a good cry. He wanted to call his mom. He wanted to not embarrass himself any further.

“I don’t know, man. It’s been a long week...”

Of course, Cass decided to ruin those plans, too.

“You should come,” he said, smiling gently at him. The dimples were out. When Enzo remained hesitant, he landed he final blow.

“Please?”

Enzo never stood a chance.

-

They were in a non-descript sports bar, the kind you genuinely find in every town, the walls filled with plaques and fake sports memorabilia. It was mostly people Enzo knew – Carmella and the New Day, of course, plus Bayley and Sasha from the makeup department and that chinless guy from accounting – but there were also a few unfamiliar faces squeezed in around the table. Heath had even managed to drag the notoriously anti-social Rhyno away from his sets.

Because the universe held a serious grudge against him, Enzo had ended up next to Cass, trying to relax with their thighs pressed closely together. Across the table, Carmella was watching them like a hawk, her nails clacking against her glass as Chinless stammered his way through whatever joke he was trying to tell. Cass was blissfully unaware of both, happily chatting away with some sleazy-looking guy with a Scottish accent, while Enzo stewed in his own misery. He kept his eyes firmly on his beer, feeling the warmth from Cass bleeding over into him and silently counting the seconds until he could excuse himself.

People started disappearing after the initial round. The New Day were the first to go, getting up from their corner of the table, and, not having planned any further than that, announced that they were going home to wash their hair. Then Bailey and Sasha left, blaming an early workout the next morning. By the third departure, Enzo realised that Carmella was pulling the strings – Cass had got up to find the restroom and Carmella dove towards Noam as soon as he was out of sight, furiously whispering into his ear. When Cass came back, Noam excused himself and stumbled out the door without finishing his cocktail. Enzo felt a sting of sympathy. God knows what she had told him.

Slowly, but surely, the table emptied. Chinless proved harder to get rid of, mostly because he hadn’t paid attention to anything apart from Carmella since they sat down. He looked like he was about to have a heart-attack, but a very happy one – he was currently at the “magic trick” stage of bad flirting and had pulled an honest-to-god pack of cards out of nowhere. The weirdest was that it seemed to be working. Or at the very least Carmella’s maternal instincts were awakened as he shuffled and folded and dropped cards. After several tragic attempts, she lent in and murmured something inaudible that made Chinless flush scarlet and fumble for his coat. They were out the door before Enzo could say anything, Carmella giving him one last unreadable look, before leaving him alone with Cass.

Enzo had a strange sense of déjà vu. Here they were again, left behind, wondering what had happened. If he closed his eyes, he could see Cass like he had been that summer, tanned and short-haired, asking him if he wanted to stay and shoot some more hoops with him. He could almost smell the sweat and the sun-warmed asphalt. Just like then, he turned to the taller man and looked at him, and Cass looked back, and the only audible sound was their breathing and a tv blaring somewhere. But it was Enzo’s time to act.

“Will you let me buy you a birthday drink?”

-

Many hours and many birthday drinks later, they were both helplessly, giggling drunk. Enzo had his leather jacket on, but no shirt – he’d shed them both a while ago to give Cass an impromptu tour of his tattoos, but the barkeep had given him a series of dirty looks as he stripped down, so he’d put the jacket back on. The bar had filled up nicely, loud enough that Enzo had an excuse to scoot closer to Cass.

“And I got this one for my grandmother.”

They were down to the latest one. Cass was leaning on his elbows, wobbly and squinting, intently focused on Enzo and his story. Enzo would have happily talked for days if it meant he got to see Cass like this, open and relaxed and more than a little flushed. A few strands of hair had escaped his ponytail - Enzo wanted to tuck them behind his ear and nearly did, when Cass lifted his head and peered blearily at him, serious all of a sudden.

“Thanks for stayin’ with me, ‘Zo,” Cass slurred, looking heartbreakingly grateful. “I can’t remember why everyone had to leave, but ’m glad you’re here.”

He shifted his glass between his hands, seeming lost in thought. The longing in Enzo’s chest _hurt_.

“Y’know, sometimes it feels like we’ve met before.”

This, Enzo realised, was his chance. He quickly swallowed the dregs of his beer, hoping it might give him the last bit of courage he needed as he steeled himself.

“Cass, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you…” he said, trying to find the right words to say everything he wanted to say. But nothing came. "I.." He must have talked himself empty during the train wreck in the script office, the last four rounds probably not helping much either, and now there was nothing. His brain felt like jelly. Meanwhile, Cass was blinking owlishly at him, waiting.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, and lent forward as steadily as he could and pressed his lips against Cass’s.

The moment they touched, Enzo wasn’t nervous any more. It had evaporated, replaced with a buzzing sense of calm – he didn’t care what happened when he opened his eyes, because Cass felt just like he had back then. He tasted like summer. Like 98 degrees and new trainers. And while he wasn’t exactly kissing back, he hadn’t pushed him away either. His mouth opened ever so slightly against Enzo’s.

Eventually, Enzo had to pull away. He’d been bracing himself for it, fully prepared for the shock and outrage and confusion, but Cass didn’t look angry at all. He didn’t even look surprised. No, he was smiling at Enzo like something had fallen into place. Like he finally got it.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Enzo replied. His hands were still in Cass’s hair. It was sun-bleached and familiar. “It’s me.”

-

By some miracle, they managed to get back to Enzo’s place in one piece, too drunk to do much more than fall into bed, kissing between bouts of giddy laughter. And when they fell asleep, wrapped around each other, it felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> “You’re a beard with an idiot hanging off it” is shamelessly stolen from Black Books.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope the changing tenses worked as intended. As a bonus, here are some rejected porn titles for the script office bit. They get progressively worse. I can only apologise: 
> 
>  
> 
> _The Latino Heat_  
>  _I Did It For The Cock_  
>  _Big Clem's Bareback Bear Wrasslan’_  
>  _Pelvis Wesley IV – Kissin’ Cousins_  
>  _Pelvis Wesley V – Are You Lonesome Tonight (Because I Can Fix That) (With My Dick)_
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and feedback are always much appreciated, and do feel free to add your own terrible porn titles.
> 
> Next up: A glimpse of Heath and Enzo's shared past. But mostly Heath's dirty, dirty secrets.


End file.
